


Willow

by vina_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff, Identity Issues, M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings, Romance, all that jazz, but only briefly really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28974999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vina_writes/pseuds/vina_writes
Summary: Courtesy of his own unreliable heart, Draco is forced to choose between a man who don't want him and one who is distressingly taken with him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 182





	Willow

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't tell you where this came from. Vaguely got inspired by King Thrushbeard, to be honest. A huge thanks to my lovely beta Adybou! Any remaining mistakes are my own ;)

_My life began, by all accounts, at birth._

_I was a screaming babe; a witchling child, the midwives called me. My mother knew my character better than she knew herself from that first petulant cry. Obstinate, cynical, and dramatic, she said, but by her tone these were nearer to endearments than insults. I digress._

_What I’m truly trying to articulate (rather poorly, you may think) is that I drew my first breath in enough distress to cry out for some higher mercy, or perhaps to plead for acknowledgement of my state. I finally knew the world and my first act in it was to present myself in the most violent manner I could. Certainly that must be a marker of the significance that moment holds in my timeline; an approval of the event’s passage into my personal history books. It must demonstrate how thoroughly destroyed, remade, undone I was by the experience. How alive I had become._

_I often used to think so. Yet truly, darling, I did not live until I met you._

  
  


“Where is she?” Draco muttered for the fifth time in the last minute.

Blaise rolled his eyes none too subtly at his friend’s antics. “Rather than continue making a tit of yourself, you could help me get these necklaces untangled.”

Draco huffed from where he was standing on a stool at the edge of their small stall, still trying to peer over the crowd. The Solstice Festival brought droves of people from the surrounding provinces, and the markets would be full all week long. As the largest city in the Gryffindor, Godric’s Hollow was always brimming with both locals and travelers, but the summer and fall festivals brought a refreshing (or stifling) wave of villagers, noblemen, craftsman, wanderers, knights— the list was endless and ever expanding. Needless to say it was good for business.

“ _Draco_ ,” Blaise was clearly annoyed, but in the heat it didn’t take much. “Get down and help me or I’ll flip this stall into the candlemaker’s.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, taking care not to hit any boxes as he clambered down to kneel by his friend. “And you wouldn’t dare. Mother would flay you alive.”

There was no use bickering over it; they both knew it was true. While Blaise’s family owned the nearest bakery, Draco’s father was born a miner. At times Lucius Malfoy could be away for months, seeking out fire-caves and woods where crystals grew like lichen beneath gnarled trees. He would always return will packs full of gems, some simple ornaments and prisms, but most imbued with veins of raw magic. Draco’s mother crafted the rocks into fine jewelry. Her skills were unmatched in the region, or so Lucius liked to claim. The pieces she produced were coveted among wanderers and noblemen alike, and she guarded her craft with a vicious determination that Draco was appropriately wary of.

At the moment, however, Narcissa was bedridden with fever, and Draco had been put in charge of their stall while Lucius took care of her. Even now she insisted she was fine, but one sneeze and her overzealous husband had her in his arms and promptly in bed. It was entertaining to watch, though painfully sappy in Draco’s opinion.

“Speaking of people showing up,” Blaise commented idly. “Have you seen Harry recently?”

“What?” Draco coughed. Blaise shot him another look. “No, of course not. Why?”

“Haven’t a clue, just asking. Most everyone suspects he’s making a bit of a move on you, that’s all. I don’t see the appeal; he’s rather awkward, and he might make bedroom eyes at you but he always hides under that vile hood so you can’t see them anyway. And you’re— well, you’re you, darling.” Blaise sent him a truly shit-eating grin.

“I despise every word of that. He’s just shy!” Draco hissed. “We’ve only spoken a few times and he was not ‘making a move,’ he was only being polite. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’d like for him to make a move.” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“No! I certainly would not. What I’d like is for you to mind your bloody business.”

“Draco, as loathe as I am to inflate your massive ego, you are unfairly beautiful,” his friend sighed. “The perfect age to marry, and a completely hopeless romantic. I’d bet good money that he’s the topic of most of your—” he shuddered “— _fantasies_ , curse the word. If he asked to court you would you agree?”

Silence as Draco tried to avoid Blaise’s stare.

“Draco.”

“Alright, I’d say yes!” Draco hid his face in his hands. “But I’m certainly not smitten and he’s not going to and daydreaming is fine because it’s not going anywhere!”

“I never mentioned you being smitten,” Blaise said. Draco slapped his arm.

In truth, Draco had the sinking suspicion that he was the only person in town who Harry spoke to at any length. They would often run into each other in one shop or another, and it was almost tradition for them to pause and have a merry old row before huffing off in opposite directions once more. Draco would have been convinced Harry hated him if it wasn’t for the alarming frequency with which their paths kept intersecting.

It didn’t help that Harry liked to wander around dusk or sunset, the opportune moment for a romantic rendezvous and hidden kisses down dark alleys. He hadn’t seen Harry in almost a week, however, and it made him a bit anxious.

Just then, a head of dark hair came weaving through the crowd towards them. Speak of the devil, and his female counterpart shall appear. Something along those lines.

“Thank God, Pansy,” Draco jumped up. “I thought you’d left me here to die.”

“Of what horrid illness?”

“Humiliation, courtesy of Blaise.”

“Oh, that’s a nasty one.” She grinned at them both. “What are we making fun of Draco for this time, then?”

“One dashing young rogue,” Blaise said. “With eyes like emeralds—”

“Muscles of steel—”

“Hands he wants around his—”

“Alright that’s enough!” Draco cut them both off with a venomous glare. “I don’t sound like that. And you’re late, Pans.”

“You’re lucky I came,” she said, already starting to help Blaise with the display cases of rings. “I got held up at home, and the crowds were hectic, that’s all. You should go check on your mother.”

“Father said she was better this morning,” Draco frowned. “Are you sure you’ll both be alright...?”

“We’ll be fine, love,” Pansy said. “We’ve both run the stall before.”

“Fine. Don’t burn the market down.” Draco kissed Pansy’s cheek and ducked away when Blaise swung at him.

“You wish,” Pansy smirked at him. “Now get out of here so you can bring me some food on your way back. I’m starving.”

Draco was about to nod and take off when a familiar yet unexpected sound cut through the air. Voices quieted slightly as people glanced in the direction of the disturbance before moving aside and continuing with their shopping.

“Were those—“

“Trumpets, yeah,” Blaise finished. He and Draco exchanged worried looks.

“Those are only used for the royal family, though,” Pansy glanced up from her work. “Is something the matter?”

People were parting down the center of the street, but there was no procession like those held when the king came through. They were only making room and showing respect.

“There have been rumors about the queen taking visits here during the festival,” Blaise said. “They say she likes to travel alone.”

It wasn’t unheard of for King James and his wife to ride through the Hollow. Their castle was only a few miles to the east and their frequent presence in the city had absolved them of most of their infamy. Their son Riven, however, was more myth than celebrity. The prince was said to never leave the castle during the day, and was rarely seen by servants outside of his rooms.

Pansy lit up at the mention of nobility. “Oh, Queenie saw her the day before last! Her guards were dreamy. Though they must get terribly lonely standing about all day.”

“Slag,” Draco snorted. “That’s just gossip.”

“No, she swears they—“

“You both better shut up if you want to actually see the rumors,” Blaise commented nonchalantly. Pansy froze before whipping around. She grabbed Draco’s arm tightly and he sucked in a breath at her unpleasantly pointed nails.

Three horses were making their way through the throngs. Atop the lead mare sat a tall woman, her glossy red hair falling down her back in a loose tail and her rich satin robes rippling with the movement of her horse. A thin gold crown twisted over her brow, the leaves and designs rivaling Narcissa’s. Queen Lily.

The lady slowed her horse before gracefully slipping to the ground and handing her reins to the guard riding beside her. The third figure dropped from his saddle and offered her his arm. A crown similar to Lily’s wove over his wild hair.

“Just our luck that they’re coming this way,” Blaise was muttering beside them.

“Just our luck that the pince is a looker,” Pansy sighed and draped herself over Draco’s shoulder. “I can’t believe they locked him up for so long. That beautifully smooth jaw needs to be on permanent display. It’s absolutely lickable.”

Draco nodded mutely.

The royals glanced around briefly, ignoring the stares of interested townspeople, before walking towards their stall with a purpose. Draco remembered his manners when Pansy elbowed him, and quickly followed her in bowing. He didn’t dare look up, but he could see silk skirts and polished black boots moving closer. They stopped.

“Hello,” a soft voice spoke. “Is this Narcissa Malfoy’s stall?”

Draco raised his head to meet the queen’ warm green eyes. Her lips were quirked in a kind smile.

“This is it, Your Majesty.”

“Is she here?” The question was tentative, polite. Draco’s eyes flickered to Riven. He had not moved, but his gaze was sweeping over the crowds, his hand resting on the golden pommel of his sword.

“She’s indisposed, unfortunately. As her son I’ve taken over the business for a short while. Shall I carry a message for her?”

“No, that’s not necessary...” Lily said. “Perhaps you could help us find a magical piece? We’re looking for protection and healing charms.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Draco congratulated himself when his voice didn’t falter. Pansy and Blaise had moved back to the other side of the stall to give him some room to work his charm, and he set about digging through small boxes immediately. “Almost all our crafts are inherently magical and therefore naturally regenerative and repellent.” He paused. “May I ask what you’re hoping to shield against?”

The queen pursed her lips. Draco wondered if he had overstepped.

“An illness, of sorts,” she murmured. “Of magical origin, but not quite a curse. As far as I am aware there isn’t a... cure, I suppose. Charms to slow its effects would be appreciated.”

Draco nodded, already thinking. “It’s always the not-quite-curses, isn’t it?”

He set a plate of jems aside to reach a carved wooden box and lifted it up to the queen, popping off the lid. Riven chose that moment to step closer and as he shifted Draco unintentionally breathed in the rich scent of his perfumed clothes. He hesitated before dipping gloved fingers in to lift a necklace from the box. As he twisted it, the chain caught the light and flashed blue-black.

“What is this?” His words had a precise bite to them, a careful weight on each syllable. Draco had not been expecting the low, honeyed tone, and though he certainly couldn’t place it, it lingered at the edge of his mind.

“That’s phoenix sapphire,” he answered. “The gems are inlayed into the chain to always touch the skin. It’s named for the traits of a phoenix— healing, rejuvenation, protection from harm, purity, so on and so forth.”

“The effects are similar, I presume?”

“Yes. It should slow most common illnesses while also healing their damage and working to purge them. It’s been known to work against curse-based maladies.”

“How much?” This time Draco couldn’t help the way his eyes flicked to Riven’s mouth.

“No price,” he answered. Pansy tisked but knew better than to argue.

Queen Lily had other ideas. “You’re too kind. But we cannot accept this. Will one hundred silvers be enough?”

Draco’s jaw went slack. He’d never held that much money in his life.

“No,” he stammered. “I couldn’t.”

“Please,” Lily reached for a gilded pouch at her hip, unfastening it and placing it on the table in front of Draco. “Use it for your mother.”

“Thank you,” he managed. He couldn’t even offer them the box before they had turned away, the necklace still hanging from Riven’s hand.

 _One hundred silvers_ , Blaise mouthed at him when he turned. Pansy’s eyes were darting between the money and a distant point that Draco was sure was Riven’s retreating arse. He just shook his head to show Blaise he was equally shocked. Good for business, indeed.

_(i)_

The rush of his successful sale lasted Draco through that day and over into the next. He was still unpleasantly shaken, not to mention overwhelmed by the money. His parents had been so excited— Lucius— and proud— Narcissa— that his father had picked his mother up and swung her a full turn before pulling them both into a hug. However, even with the new earnings, Draco felt the stirrings of curiosity. What good was a healing gem to a queen with access to the most sophisticated medicines in the land?

After two days of sitting behind their cramped stall, however, even pondering the meager woes of royalty became dull, and Draco grew bored. Distraction came almost suspiciously well timed in the form of a dark figure slipping up to the side of the table. Shadows were growing over the marketplace and lanterns had already gone up on the street. Draco was polishing a ring when the man caught his attention.

“How much for the piece I’m looking at right now?”

Draco barely had time to take in muddy shoes and torn trousers before his shoulders straightened unconsciously and his stomach flipped.

“Another bouquet from the meadow,” he snorted. Green eyes narrowed playfully.

“Pricey,” came a hummed reply. “I’ll see what I can do, though.” Draco snorted.

“Thought you surely must have died by now, Harry,” he said as he took in the familiar smile hidden behind a tidy beard. It was indeed harder to see with the heavy hood and cloak over the man’s dark hair, but Draco had always liked a bit of a mystery.

“Aren’t we sentimental today?” Harry mused. “Would you have missed me?”

“I’m missing my peace and quiet,” Draco huffed. “Haven’t you got other shopkeeps to terrorize?”

“No,” Harry immediately said. “I like bothering you just fine.”

Draco felt his cheeks heating up, and he glanced away. There was a beat of silence during which neither moved.

“How’s your mother?” Harry finally asked. Draco startled at the thoughtful question.

“Better.” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the table. Draco suddenly wished he were standing.

“And yourself?”

“Worse every minute I’m in your presence.” Harry just chuckled, a thick, molten sound that warmed Draco in strange places. “I suppose you’ve heard by now that the queen and prince are official patrons of my family’s establishment. Seems we aren’t useless tinkerers after all.”

He would have thought Harry would react to haven his past words thrown in his face but he barely shifted. “You say the prince was here? Riven?”

“Is there another prince squandered away that I don’t know about?” Draco said. He was feeling thrown in the familiar way he always did around Harry. His hands were sweating enough to dampen his polishing cloth.

“Did you— er, what was your impression of him?”

“What do you mean?” Draco frowned.

“I’ve only— I was just asking, just curious,” Harry tugged at a fraying string on the edge of his hood a bit, a nervous habit Draco had noticed some weeks before.

“He was fine, I suppose. Quiet, but certainly not rude. Pansy thought he was fit as a bowstring.”

“You don’t seem to agree.” It was more question than statement, and an inexplicable ire flared in Draco’s chest at the words. He despised the insinuation that he wasn’t allowed to find another man attractive; more so the idea that he was infatuated enough that it didn’t even occur to Harry that Draco might long after another. In that moment it didn’t matter that Harry knew nothing of Draco’s fancy for him.

“I found him quite pleasing,” he sneered. “Certainly more so than a vagabond like you. In fact, now that I think back on it I’d say he was quite easily the most handsome man for fifty miles.”

The string on Harry’s hood snapped with a sharp pop. Draco desperately waited for the customary retort but one wasn’t forthcoming.

“I’m sure you must have been wondering where I disappeared to, these past few weeks.” His voice was stilted.

“I haven’t.”

“My friend got married.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Harry paused. “I was caught up with the wedding, then just a few minor affairs.”

“I see.” Draco spun the ring between his fingers mindlessly. His cheeks were burning as he stared at the ground. He felt utterly humiliated, and couldn’t shake the sick feeling that he’d done something irreparable.

“What are your own thoughts on marriage?” The ring went flying across the ground as Draco jumped.

“H-how do you mean?” He could hear his own voice tremble.

“Just in terms of the general idea. Surely someone must have caught your eye at some point. Have you ever considered it?”

“I mean— of course, yes...” Draco chanced a glance at Harry’s face, but it had grown dark enough that he could barely make out the gleam of his eyes. “A couple times. If I liked them, and they liked me, I’d clearly give it some thought. I know Pansy’s obsessed with the idea so it must be either madness or genius.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “But you’ve never been in love, correct?”

“No.” _Yes_ . “Certainly not.” _Please don’t ask me this_ . “Have you?” _Say no_.

“I have.”

Draco felt a dead weight settle beneath his ribs. He had no response that wouldn’t give it away.

“Alright,” Harry finally said. “It was only a question. I’m glad you’re doing well, though.”

“You’re leaving?” Draco tried not to sound dismayed. “Already?”

“I have somewhere I need to be,” Harry gave him a hint of a smile. “Take care of your mother. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye” Draco managed before he turned away. He got a jerky wave as Harry walked off, his long cloak snapping quickly behind him. As he left, Draco couldn’t help feeling lonelier than he had before.

_(ii)_

He didn’t see Harry again that week. Narcissa began manning the stall with him just in time for the end of the festival, and after that she no longer needed Draco’s help with selling. He was left either at home or in the meadows, sitting among wildflowers and braiding glowing jewels into threads of silver and gold.

He didn’t see Harry the next week either. Or the day following that. Draco distracted himself with household tasks, and when that proved ineffective he took to denial like a fish to water.

A fortnight from the end of the festival, however, Draco did have a visitor.

The weather had been holding at a pleasant warmth, the blue sky filled with the clouds that were so crisply cut they reminded Draco of cream on a pastry. There was a light breeze in the air and the smell of sweet spices wafting through town. Draco loved fall.

His arms were full of assorted materials to make the next circlet he was planning, and he’d just stepped out the door of their house when the sound of clicking hooves had his eyes darting up. A grey horse was pawing the cobblestones of the street, its rider dressed in equally dark colors. The breeze chose that moment to play with the cape at his back, betraying the fine make of the fabric.

“Y-your highness,” Draco stuttered, immediately attempting a bow, but struggling with the load in his arms.

“Please be at ease,” the prince said, the voice once again echoing in Draco’s ears. He shook it off.

“How may I help you today?” His smile was strained. “Is there something else we can make you?” An awful thought occurred to him. “Was the necklace unsatisfactory?” His mother would have his neck.

“No,” Riven said calmly. “I didn’t come for business purposes.”

Draco watched bemused as the noble swung down from his horse with a practiced grace. He frowned as Riven came to stand at the foot of the steps to their door. Then he did something Draco would swear for several days he had dreamt up. He pulled a small bunch of yellow flowers from his cloak and held them up to the shocked blond.

“I came here to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Somewhere a hopeful little bird was chirping at his morning song. During those seconds Riven’s shoulders rose hopefully. Then Draco’s mind caught up to him.

“What?!” Draco finally yelped. “You— what in the forsaken name of mighty kings and stinking river trolls— you’ve come to do what exactly?!”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Riven looked awfully perplexed for a lunatic. It was a shame he really was quite handsome. “And I’m asking you to marry me. Have I been unintentionally unclear? I thought I was rather blunt.”

“You can’t _do_ that!” Draco knew he was sputtering. “That’s simply not _done_. You don’t— forgive me, Highness, but you don’t even know me, much less love me. We’ve met only once. You can’t just ask me to marry you.”

“But... I do care for you.” Now Riven sounded confused. “I can see you are honest, passionate, hardworking, and talented. Why can’t I ask you to join me in rulership?”

“ _Rulership_ —”

“—as consort king, yes. And as my lover. I’m certain you could grow to share my passion if only you allowed me to prove myself to you.”

“It’s not _done_ ,” Draco repeated. He hoped he wouldn’t be imprisoned for this.

There was a pause.

“Do you not find me suitable?”

“No! No, it’s not that,” even though Draco rushed to say it, he didn’t think to lie. Riven had not yet shown a cruel or unlikable side. “Like I’ve said, I simply don’t know you, Your Highness. I cannot marry someone I’ve never even held a conversation with.”

The prince considered his words for a long moment. “Is this your answer?” Riven said finally.

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m sorry, but it is.”

“I see,” the prince paused. “And I am sorry too... but if you will not take my hand now, I can only keep asking. I will not retract my offer yet. Please think about it.”

With that, he set the flowers gently on the step at Draco’s feet and turned to mount his horse. He was gone as quickly as he’d come.

Draco ruined three circlets that day.

_(iii)_

Needless to say, his mother wheedled out what had happened, and she told his father, and both let slip while Blaise was over, so Pansy naturally found out. His parents were a happy combination of shocked, delighted, disappointed (that he refused), and accepting of his reasoning. They had, after all, married for love, and they weren’t about to deny their son that freedom, even if it was costing them a position in the court. Blaise was ecstatic at Draco’s discomfort, and Pansy was suspicious and mildly put off by the “audacity and straightforwardness” of the prince.

“I worked hard on my tits,” she complained. “And he doesn’t even care? What’s so wonderful about Draco? He’s so _pointy_. No offense, love.”

Draco himself tried to forget the incident. He was busy for once the next couple of days so it was easy enough. He also had darker worries on his mind— worries that had disappeared, and therein lay his problem.

It had almost been a month since he’d seen Harry.

Draco didn’t let himself imagine the worst. Harry had left for long periods of time during his stay at the town (Draco refused to acknowledge the thoughts that whispered it had never been this long). Harry was a traveler, but this had become a makeshift home for him. Surely he would return. Even if he were leaving the town for good, he would say something. He’d have come to Draco, bid him goodbye, if only to argue one last bittersweet time.

Or would he? Had Harry even liked him that much from the beginning? Courtings never lasted long, usually skipping to marriage fairly fast, and that’s what everyone insisted Harry had been doing— building up to ask Draco to court, at the very least. Even Draco had somewhat believed it. Had hoped.

Perhaps he’d been wrong. No courting couple was so full of venom. He’d thought it was in jest, as least until their last meeting. Harry had always laughed at his insults and smiled through their verbal spars.

The turmoil distracted him until Riven’s next visit, which unfortunately happened while his mother was home. He’d been moping in bed when he heard her call him down, and diligently stood with a groan before throwing on a knitted jumper and stomping down the stairs.

“There you are, darling,” Narcissa greeted him from the stove when he arrived in the kitchen. “You have a guest.” He caught her wink just as he took notice of the velvet-clad figure seated at their table.

“Good evening, Draco,” Riven said politely.

“Hello,” Draco answered, earning a pointed look from Narcissa. “Your Highness.” His mother tisked at his tone, as if she wasn’t the one to invite the crown prince into their kitchen.

“No formalities, please,” Riven quickly insisted. “I just was stopping by to see how you were, and hopefully to meet your mother and father.”

“And you are lovely for doing that,” Narcissa turned with two mugs, which she set on the table before pouring hot water. “So much more polite than our Draco.”

“You’d think I was your pet pig, not your son.” He’d meant to mutter it, but by the amused twitch of Riven’s lips perhaps he hadn’t been quite subtle enough,

“Perhaps if you sat down with us instead of hovering in the doorway you’d look less like one,” Narcissa shot back with an icy smile. Draco sat. There was a suspicious cough from his right.

“Apologies,” Riven sounded like he was smiling. “But you remind me of my mother.” Draco could pinpoint the moment Narcissa melted. How gloriously predictable. His mother approved of the prince.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” she said swiftly. “Please, do pass on our greatest thanks to her. Anything we can do for her or for you, it shall be done.”

“And we are most grateful to you in turn.” Riven bowed his head. “In truth, I’d love to hear more about your craft.”

Narcissa pounced.

For the next hour Draco proceeded to turn discomfort into an art form. He wondered at how long his mother had waited to call him down, as the polite conversation between her and Riven spoke of easy familiarity. He was invested without seeming overbearing, and amusing in a restrained manner. Draco dreaded the moment he would be alone to fend off questions.

In the end, though Narcissa protested, Riven did not stay for supper. He excused himself with all the elegance of a court socialite and left Narcissa beaming. Draco had never known she possessed so many white teeth. Of course, he was shooed to the door to see Riven off with numerous smirks and winks from his mother. He was sure he’d rather she just drop the pot of tea on his head.

“I appreciate your visit,” Draco said as Riven untied his horse. “It isn’t a short way to come.”

“The pleasure was all mine, and it’s only ten minutes at a gallop,” Riven tilted his head. “I enjoy the wind and the sky. It’s better than seeing the inside of a castle all day.”

Draco hummed in agreement. Under Riven’s unexpected honesty and prompting glance, he elaborated. “I always felt more at peace in the meadows than in the town. The flowers are wonderful this time of year.”

“I must go see them, then,” Riven murmured.

They were standing only a few feet apart, yet there was no reason for him not to mount his horse and leave. Draco shuffled his feet.

“Have you thought at all about what I said last time I saw you?” Riven said softly. “The offer stands, if you’ll have me.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco winced. “My answer is the same. I can’t say that I know you after a single afternoon spent in your company.”

“Is there someone already in your life? It wouldn’t offend me. I’m only satisfying my own curiosity.”

Green eyes flashed through his mind. Someone else. Someone he wanted to marry.

“I thought there might have been...” Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. “But, um... I was mistaken.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco just nodded. “I understand if that’s your choice. I have one request to make, however. If you won’t have my hand, perhaps we can still be friends? I enjoyed your company today, and I don’t get the chance to spend time with many people outside of the court. I’d like to visit you again, if that’s alright.”

“Friends,” Draco let the word roll around in his mouth. “I’d like that too. Please stop by, I’m sure at the very least my mother will be ecstatic.”

Riven let out a small laugh. Draco hated how quick he was to respond to it, how warm it made him feel. Another laugh sprung to mind.

“Goodnight,” Riven swung into the saddle. “Until next time.”

Draco waved as the prince rode around the curve in the road.

He wondered how much this friend had cost.

_(iv)_

Riven visited again two days later, and once more a week after that. Soon, his presence became a familiar and regular occurrence in the Malfoy household. Draco would come home for dinner to find him at the table with Lucius— who was delighted and quite taken with the prince— or bump into him at the market. He’d even met Riven in the meadows on a memorable day where they had talked well into the night. The moments were colored bitter for Draco, however, who remembered all too well the one time he’d brought Harry here to prove a long-forgotten point.

Draco was surprised to discover that Riven was not nearly as courteous and cultured as he seemed. Beneath his pretty words lay an extensive and well-worshipped vocabulary of the most crass curses Draco had ever had the pleasure of hearing. It had taken several slip-ups, but when Draco made it clear there would be no judgment between them, Riven relaxed and let his tongue run wild. He said what he wanted about who he wanted in whatever way he pleased, and Draco struggled to keep his amusement under wraps. This Riven was coin flip from the composed, serious prince he first met at the market and outside his house. It was refreshing, reminding him a lot of Blaise. It also reminded him of another dark haired friend, but Draco would banish those thoughts every time they crept up on him.

The more time they spent together, the better Draco came to like Riven. He was blunt and occasionally sardonic, but simultaneously tender. He listened to Draco’s complaining with a commendable amount of patience and snorted at Draco’s wild enthusiasm. They saw eye to eye in most cases of dissent, yet Draco’s growing respect for Riven lended his arguments a measure of credibility that Draco rarely encountered in his opponents.

They both enjoyed the town but preferred the open air of the forests and meadows. They had a secret sweet tooth Narcissa was very familiar with, and a common disgust for the color pink (Riven was unfairly fond of red, however, the heathen). Draco’s favorite was green, which he went on to describe in embarrassing detail using phrases like “forest streams glimmering with sunlight” and “emerald moulded by ocean spray”. Riven had rolled his eyes to the monologue and simply said his favorite was silver-blue, like storm clouds.

It was only when Draco got home and looked in the mirror that it occurred to him Riven had described the grey of his own eyes, and it was only when Draco felt the first tear hit his cheek that he realized he had been describing Harry’s.

_(v)_

Harry was gone. Draco found out from Charlie, the town baker, who had given him an apologetic look and told him the traveler had stopped using the spare room in their shop over a month ago. Draco just nodded and tried to ask for the bread he’d been sent to get, but his cracking voice gave him away. Charlie took one look at him and sent him home with a free bag and a short pat on the back.

Draco barely made it to his room before the tears began. There was nothing to be said for it. He’d been in love with Harry. He still was.

_(vi)_

A month passed again. By now it had been almost four months since that first autumn festival. Winter covered Godric's Hollow in thick snow. Mistletoe and holly were strung along the streets and stalls of hot wine had popped up. The atmosphere was warm even though the weather was icy.

Riven hadn’t visited for a week, but he was meant to come by that night, and Draco couldn’t wait. His friend had been uncharacteristically quiet recently, and he’d acted strangely on their last meeting, avoiding many of Draco’s questions and trailing off mid-sentence. Draco had caught him stumbling after getting off his horse, and he refused long walks out across the meadows now. Something was amiss and Draco was worried, but for now he wasn’t sure how his nagging might be received.

When a knock finally did sound at the door and Draco flung it open, however, Riven did not step inside. He looked tense, his hands clutched tight at the edges of his fur cloak, his head down.

“I need to talk to you,” was all he said before turning and walking back down the steps. Draco glanced around in confusion before slipping into his boots and pulling a cloak around himself. He called to his mother that he’d be a minute before following Riven outside. The prince was leaning against the wall facing away from him, but turned presumably when he heard the crunch of snow under Draco’s feet.

“What has you so skittish?” Draco smiled. “Rough day?”

“It’s my birthday in two weeks,” Riven let out in a breath.

“Oh, congratulations! What should I get you?”

“Nothing, that’s not the point,” his voice tinged with frustration. “I need— I came here to ask you again. I’ve already talked to your parents about this and I— Draco, I’m in love with you. I truly am. We know each other now. You can’t use that against me. I know you, and I am in love with you. You know me now too, so I am asking you one final time before I let go of this foolish fantasy I’ve been holding onto. Will you marry me?”

Draco hadn’t registered when Riven had taken his hands, but he was holding them tightly now, like he was scared Draco would run. It wasn’t an undeserved worry. Draco felt like he very well could run.

He liked Riven.

Riven liked him.

Friends.

But they could be more. There was no excuse for how fast his heart was beating.

He wanted this.

He could say yes. Riven loved him.

He loved Harry.

And there it was. Harry. At the center of his dreams, his heart, his mind. Harry was gone, but in leaving he’d taken more of Draco with him and left more of himself behind than should have been possible. But he was gone now. Draco had every right to— needed to, in fact— move on. He wanted this. He wanted to move on. More and more often Riven was the first thought on his mind and not the second.

“Can I... think about it?” He heard himself whisper. The words hung between them in frosty clouds.

“Yes, yes of course,” Riven almost laughed. “Please do— think about it, take as long as you need.”

“Alright,” Draco slowly pulled his hands back. He missed the gentle heat of Riven’s palms instantly. “Are you staying...?”

“No, I have to leave.”

“Ok,” Draco nodded. “Can I have two, ah, three days? Just— to think.”

“Three days is perfect,” Riven murmured. Draco thought he looked beautiful then, with the evening light reflecting off the snow to cloud his face in shadow, and the steam of his breath floating over his cheeks. He wanted to tell Riven that, and explain why he was hurting. Explain why his heart still called for green eyes and full lips pulled up in a smirk.

“I’ll see you then,” is what he said instead.

_(vii)_

Draco spent two of the three days locked in his room. He let no one but his mother in, and that was rare enough. She hadn’t pried, but he called her in anyway and quietly told her what had happened, and finally, finally let the weight that Harry had become slip off his chest and onto some else’s. He’d cried a fair bit, most of it on her shoulder or into his pillow. Afterwards he still hurt but not as sharply. It helped when she shushed him and held him close, whispered encouraging words and explained that the first love was always the hardest. The first love, because that’s what Harry was.

Slowly, by feeble increments, he tried to let go. It wasn’t really letting go at all, but rather accepting the truth the way it stood. Draco’s fantasies wouldn’t return Harry to him. He was dead to Draco now, a figment of memory that Draco had crafted into a sculpture of love. Never something to hope for. Draco felt sick as he forced himself to say the words, whisper them louder and louder until he was almost shouting. Harry was gone.

But Riven wasn’t. Riven who would bring him wildflowers and stop by for dinner. Riven was real, and Riven wanted him. Harder yet was to admit that he certainly wasn’t indifferent to Riven. Even if Harry were to be conjured up on his doorstep with uncharacteristic words of adoration, Draco felt dirt at the thought of that love, a love that was tainted by feelings for someone else.

He stared at the swirling knots on the floor, tracing their patterns until they merged into an otherworldly picture of something wrongly familiar. His fingers were skimming the edge of his blanket, back and forth over and over. They stopped at a frayed thread and tugged. Draco snapped it off viciously and turned to face the wall.

  
  


_(viii)_

When Riven returned at dawn on the fourth day Draco met him outside. He reminded himself that he should have been happy in the moments of his impending engagement. He smiled but could not make himself meet Riven’s earnest gaze.

Riven must have smiled too, because Draco heard it in his voice when he thanked him a thousand times, promised to cherish and love him, and cupped his cheeks gently with gloved hands. Draco breathed out in relief. How fitting that even now there should be something separating them, a block between their intimacy.

Riven didn’t kiss him, just leaned their foreheads together and murmured sweet nothings and ardent promises. Draco tried to return them.

The house was warm when Narcissa welcomed them inside with tears and smiles. Dinner was warm too, with far too much laughter and happiness hanging heavy like perfume on the air. Riven was warm when he hugged Draco by the door, whispering goodbye and his love.

Draco felt freezing.

_(ix)_

Draco’s life became a blur, days swimming from one to the next. He was invited to live out the days before the wedding on royal grounds and his parents had him packed and in a carriage before Draco could center himself enough to graciously refuse. The castle was airy and lavishly decorated, a veritable sea of marble and filigree, nothing like the dreary dungeon Riven had described. Draco’s rooms were equally beautiful, with large windows and dark wooden furniture, the carpets deep enough to sink one’s toes in.

Wedding plans for Riven’s birthday were arranged at frightening speed. When Draco hinted at a wish for more time, Queen Lily brushed him off with a smile and a mention of tradition. His world was a whirlwind of anticipation and arrangement. Draco felt hollowed out every moment of it.

His eyes grew dull. He lay awake night after night, his body exhausted but his mind spinning. Draco went a whole day without smiling, and the next he skipped two meals. His mother noticed but said nothing. He knew Riven would see it soon, but Draco refused to be the first to admit something was wrong. He’d promised himself to try and he was going to. Draco could keep this act up until it stopped being a farce, until he really was in love.

And he certainly wasn’t far off, was he? He already loved Riven as a friend, how hard could it be to shift that love into something different? In fact, if it weren’t for Harry, he was certain he already would. He had some measure of feelings for Riven. They just couldn’t seem to stand against the rest of his heart.

He dreamt of Harry again. When he woke up suddenly enough to know he had cried out, Draco cursed himself. The bed under him was unfamiliarly soft, the sheets silk, and he would have lain in a barn if it meant his wanderer was laying beside him.

_(x)_

The night before their wedding, Draco heard a knock on his door. Riven stepped in after a second.

“Hello,” Draco sent him a weak smile from where he was sitting on the window seat. “Isn’t it bad luck for the grooms to see one another before the wedding?”

“I don’t subscribe to superstition,” Riven said. Suddenly he was crossing the room in long strides. Draco tightened his white-knuckled grip on the seat when Riven stood only a few feet away. “Draco, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t give me that. You look ill. You haven’t been eating, or sleeping from what I hear. Please talk to me, I only want to help. I hate to see you upset.”

Draco dropped his gaze, running his fingers over the edge of his seat and trying not to clench his jaw.

“It’s nothing. Just unfounded worries.” He took a breath.

“Nothing is unfounded if it’s bothering you.”

“It’s not something you could help with. Please, let it go. It’ll work itself out.”

“Like hell it will,” Riven shook his head. He blanched momentarily, before his face closed off. “Is this... if this is about the wedding, if you are having second thoughts—“

“It’s not that,” Draco answered too quickly. He could see Riven’s hands twitch. He hadn’t outright denied it.

“Then this is what it comes to,” he breathed. “You don’t want to go through with it.”

“No, it’s not that!” Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Riven flinched at his tone.

“So you didn’t agree only to please me?”

“I...” He didn’t want to lie to his friend. “Not entirely, I didn’t.” There was silence. Draco pulled his knees up to his chest on the window seat, facing Riven but as usual, unable to look at him.

“We can call it off,” Riven’s voice, for once, was chillingly emotionless. It was painful to hear. “There’s still time to step back, if we’re doing something we’ll regret later—“

“That’s not it!” Draco hissed for the third time. He didn’t mean to be so caustic, but Riven was digging into an unhealed wound. “You don’t understand, that’s not what I— I can’t talk to you about this.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Why? Why?!” Draco laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Because I don’t want to hurt you! I care about you, and I don’t want to hurt you over something so childish.”

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

Draco chose to ignore that. “We won’t regret this. It’s a good choice.”

“But made for the wrong reasons.” The words stung.

Riven sighed. Draco glanced down at his hands, blinking rapidly. He heard the floorboards creak before Riven sat down beside him, leaning back against the glass.

“The only thing that would hurt me is seeing you in pain,” Riven said quietly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Draco took another shuddering breath, looking up at the curtains and trying to will his suddenly wet eyes to dry. He didn’t want to cry now, of all times.

“Please, Draco. I would never be angry with you, I just want to help. Whatever that means, whatever you need.”

Draco closed his eyes.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “But I’m scared I can’t love you the way you want me to. I’m sorry.” There it was.

“Is it something I’ve done?” Riven’s words were slow and careful, and they broke Draco’s heart. “Something I’ve said...?”

“No, no!” Draco sniffled. “It’s not you, you’re perfect. You’ve been nothing but wonderful, and this is all my fault, I am so _sorry_.” He wiped at a cheek he hadn’t even realized was wet in frustration. “There was— is— a man who used to stay in our village. He came almost a year ago, he’d stay above the bakery.” He could feel Riven’s tension, but he had to speak before the words sealed themselves away from his fiancé. “He used to visit me at the market. We’d run into each other. He was the first one to bring me wildflowers. That’s why they’re my favorite.” Draco’s throat was seizing up. “He was strange and frustrating. He made me laugh, he always wore this silly hood that was too big for him. He had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Everyone thought we were headed somewhere. I guess I believed them. But then—“

“— he left?” Riven said with a tight jaw.

“Ye— Yes, he did,” Draco frowned through his tears. “He disappeared. I waited for months. I’ve waited so _long_ .” A sob fought its way out of his throat. “I don’t understand, was there something _that_ wrong with me? Am I that awful? I know I was cruel to him, but he’d reply in kind and I didn’t realize I was— that he would leave—”

“That’s not why he left, Draco.” Riven cut him off.

“You can’t say that, you didn’t hear it. I might as well have told him I’d take a prince like you over him any day.” Draco gritted his teeth. “I chased him off and I have no one to blame but myself, and I hate that I’m still pining over him like a maid, mourning something so _foolish_.”

Riven spoke so quietly that Draco barely heard him over his own ragged breathing. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“What?” Draco hesitated. Riven bowed his head. Then his hands were taking Draco’s, holding them tightly, as hot as they always were.

“I thought you were indifferent to me,” he repeated. “I’m the idiot. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t... understand,” Draco shook his head.

“I can’t expect you to,” Riven sighed. “I made a grave mistake, and we’re both a bit heartbroken for it. It’s only fair I explain to you.”

Riven stood and crossed the room to the armoire, flipping the doors open and pulling a fur cloak out. He swept it around his shoulders and pulled up the hood before coming to stand in front of Draco again. Draco watched with growing dread as Riven lifted some of the fur to cover his face, the dark hair taking the place of a short beard and the shadows of the hood warping his eyes into familiar shapes. The green flashed at him even in the relative dark.

Harry Potter. Clean-shaven, scrubbed, and silk-clad but unmistakable.

Every second he thought he had been jaded, left, rejected, Harry had been there toying with him.

“Your explanation had better start improving,” Draco forced out. “Before I rip that look off your face.”

“Please don’t be angry,” Harry said quickly, managing to catch Draco’s hand before he pulled away. “Draco, just listen.” When Draco just sat frozen, Harry took it as his cue to continue. “I’m James and Lily’s son, but I am also who you know me as. I’ve never lied to you. I have... difficulty, socializing with the court. I hate being confined to this castle. A year ago, it became too much for me. I went away for awhile— took torn clothing, spare change, just the bare things. I found Charlie, and he offered me a place to stay. It was easy to pass as a traveler settling down in Godric's Hollow. I didn’t expect to get close to anyone. I certainly didn’t expect to meet you.”

“So what, you decided I was a game to play?” Draco spat, pulling his hand back quickly. “The poor prince on his desperate quest for amusement?”

“No, dammit! I fell for you just as hard as you claim you did for me!” Harry hissed. “It was never a game. I’m— terrible at this, to say the least. I couldn’t tell if you returned my feelings. Some days I was sure I drove you spare. I was scared to say anything and ruin what we had. I was terrified of what you’d say when you found out my status.

“Then there was the festival, and my mother contacted me and dragged me out to find that stupid necklace, and I met you again under a new name. I knew I had to return home soon; you weren’t showing any signs of interest in me that I could see, and you’d already met me as the prince.” He paused as if to center himself.

“And then I told you I’d rather have him over you,” Draco said hollowly. Riven winced.

“I won’t claim it didn’t affect me,” he murmured. “I’m a coward at heart, and I chose to give up. I thought I’d have more of a chance if I was my true self, so Harry left the town for good and Riven came instead. Though now I understand that I may have been wrong. I’m sorry, a million times over. I should have told you the truth from the start. I should have just asked you, I know. Forgive me, please.”

Everything he wanted was hanging before his eyes. The threads were about to snap, or weave into something beautiful.

“I want to forgive you,” Draco said slowly. “But I couldn’t even say what I’m angry about. I have more questions than you’re probably able to answer.”

“Ask. I’ll answer anything.”

“Is your name Harry or Riven?”

“My given name is Riven,” Harry answered instantly. “Harry is a nickname. My mother wanted to name me Harold. It’s what people close to me call me. Harry Potter is an alias.”

“Oh,” Draco frowned. “So I shouldn’t...?”

“I’d love to hear you call me that, if it’s what you wish.” Harry reached out to run his fingers over Draco’s cheek, reminding him of the tears still clinging to his skin. This time he didn’t pull away.

“Alright, Harry.” A weight slid off his shoulders at the comfortable name. “Why did you reveal yourself as Riven?”

“If you mean all those months ago, that’s a longer story,” Harry looked away. “I needed to be present to test the magic of whatever piece you chose to sell to me. I was born with a magical affliction. I am much weaker than I appear. Sickness is quick to take me, and all the exercise and healing in the world hasn’t seemed to help. The illness limits my life significantly.”

“The necklace was for you?” Draco sat up straight. “What do you mean, it limits your life?! Harry, there’s a cure right? There must be a cure, it’s only magic—“

“There is,” Harry cut in. “But it’s painfully cliché.” He raised his eyebrow and his eyes flashed down to Draco’s lips. Draco flushed.

“True love’s kiss?” He mumbled.

“Little more than that, I’m afraid,” Harry winced. “Consummation.”

 _Oh_.

“I’d never force anything on you Draco, never, I never expected anything from you—“

“Harry,” Draco interrupted. “I’m not going to let you die.”

Harry bit his lip.

“Thank you, but I can’t accept that, Draco. I can’t do something like that to you just to heal myself.”

“It wouldn’t— it doesn’t have to be just for that,” Draco mumbled quietly. “I want— even if you weren’t sick, I would want to... I’d want you.” He swallowed and looked up to meet Harry’s widened eyes. “I want you.”

“Draco—“

“I’m still pissed. You better fucking believe you’ll be hearing about this until we die because you’re not getting rid of me that easily you princely twat—“

“Will you marry me?” Harry’s eyes had never been more serious, even if he was laughing. “I’m in love with you. I know I’m bad at saying it, and that probably will never change, but I promise to keep trying. As nothing more than who I am, here and now, will you marry me?”

Draco was nodding before Harry had even finished speaking. The rush of relief and happiness was overwhelming.

“Yes,” he hiccuped. “Fuck yes, of course.” He choked out a laugh. Harry looked awestruck, unbelieving, a reflection of everything Draco could feel coursing through his body. Harry was still looking at him like he was the world, and Draco was none too happy about the distance between them.

“If you don’t kiss me right now I’m changing that to a no—“

Harry stepped between Draco’s legs and bent to press their lips together. His hands ran over Draco’s chest and down his arms before coming to cradle his face. Harry kissed like he’d never seen Draco before, never touched him, and perhaps he never truly had. Not without some chasm of uncrossable restraint. And God, Draco couldn’t get enough of Harry’s skin.

He could feel Harry’s heartbeat against his chest, and he never wanted to let go. He could have kissed him forever like this, tangled together and drunk on happiness.

They eventually pulled apart, however, both panting and lips swollen. Harry kept their noses touching, sharing the same air and still running his hands over every part of Draco he could reach, but slower now. When he straightened Draco rested his cheek against his stomach, and Harry’s arms cradled his head.

“You’re beautiful in moonlight,” Draco whispered. “I wanted to tell you on that night in the snow. You glow.”

“What am I now, a fairy?” Harry muttered through a smile he couldn’t hide.

“You better fucking not be, after everything else.”

Harry snorted. Draco huffed out a short laugh, then Harry chuckled, and before they knew it they were giggling like a pair of idiots.

“Oh my stars, I’m marrying you tomorrow,” Draco swiped at his eyes.

Harry looked like he was going to retort, but instead he kneeled down in front of Draco and kissed him slowly. Once, twice, and he stayed that way, lips just barely brushing.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured into his mouth. “For putting up with me, and for waiting for me.”

“I love you, too,” Draco said before pulling Harry back in again.

  
_fin_


End file.
